


Of Sandcastles & Knuckle Sandwiches

by CeslaToil



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Brief Violence, Bullying, Crying, Fluff, M/M, Puppy Love, Slice of Life, childhood crushes, friendships, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 11:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10695960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeslaToil/pseuds/CeslaToil
Summary: During the summer of 1960-something, Ford Pines befriends a charming tourist and begins a life-long friendship.





	Of Sandcastles & Knuckle Sandwiches

Stan had been sick with the flu all week, which, aside from the fever and throwing up every hour or so, was actually the best. He didn’t have to help dad in the pawn shop, nor do any chores; all he needed to do was sit back, drink juice, and read as many violent horror comics as he could.

The only downside was that Ford had to stay away. Ma had loudly reminded them of the time they’d both gotten the chicken pox simultaneously when they were three, and she stated “one sick kid is already bad enough, two is too much!”

So, while Stan sat at home and recovered, Ford was forced to play outside by himself. This wasn’t so bad early in the morning, when he could slip out onto the beach and examine the tidepools or, as he was doing that particular morning, build sand castles, but on summer days like this the beach always seemed to belong to Crampelter and his gang of dim witted cronies. It wouldn’t be long before they showed their ugly faces, and turned their even uglier attentions to Ford, “the six fingered freak!”

Ford wasn’t exactly a push over, but he was eleven and didn’t like physical conflict, no matter how many stupid boxing classes Dad forced him to take. Fighting had always been Stan’s forte. Crampelter was thirteen, obnoxious, and could hit like a wrecking ball. Whenever he made his way to Ford, the boy knew that it was smarter to run instead of fight, perhaps into the nearest library where the smell of literacy and learning would ward off Crampelter.

This is why Ford tensed when a strange boy he’d never seen before began to walk towards him on the beach that morning.  
“Howdy,” the boy greeted Ford cheerfully. He had a long nose, plus a mop of shaggy golden blond hair that fell over his wide, blue eyes.

“… Hi.”

“That’s a great sandcastle,” said the boy with an earnest, charming smile.

“Um, thank you,” said Ford, who couldn’t help but smile back. “It’s supposed to be Neuschwanstein Castle.”

“Newt-Swan what now?”

“Neuschwanstein Castle,” Ford continued, unable to stop himself from explaining about one of his many interests, “it’s a fancy castle in Germany that was commissioned by King Ludwig II of Barvaria. He wasn’t a very good king, but he designed really beautiful castles all over Germany.”

“That’s so neat,” squeaked the boy, who knelt down for a better look at Ford’s handy work. “You know,” said the boy, who began puffing out his chest proudly, “I once built a castle myself.”

Ford raised an eyebrow skeptically at the new boy.

“Oh really,” asked Ford.

“Really,” the boy nodded his head enthusiastically, “well, it was only a model, but I got to make a real working drawbridge and everything! I love building things; castles, airplanes, cars, even robots!”

“Wow! I thought I was the only kid who liked robots,” said Ford with growing excitement.

“Folks who don’t like robots are not to be trusted,” said the boy wisely.

“… you know, there’s a model shop on the boardwalk,” Ford grinned at his new friend, “did you want to check it out with me?”

“Do you really mean it?” The boy was grinning ear to ear. “Nobody ever invited me to go anywhere with em before, not counting my aunt and uncle inviting me along on vacation here that is!”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, um–”

“Fiddleford!”

Ford began to chuckle, which made the new boy blush.

“I– I know, it’s a goofy name–”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ford assured him. “My name’s actually Stanford! We’re both Fords!”

This made Fiddleford smile once again, which was something Stanford would grow to love seeing for the rest of his life.

  
The week Ford spent with Fiddleford was one of the happiest he’d been that entire summer. Every day, after saying goodbye to a still sick Stanley, Ford would meet Fiddleford on the boardwalk and they’d tear through Glass Shard Beach like a hurricane. They would spend hours either looking at all the interesting models at Hobby Hut, or perhaps getting comics from the dingy shop just across the street, or, on a particularly adventurous day, they’d head to the amusement park and ride some of the more dangerous rides together. Between those little adventures, the two would just enjoy each other’s company, just talking for hours about their interests and their own insecurities.

“Everyone at school calls me things like flutesnoot,” sighed Fiddleford miserably one afternoon. “Or noodle nose. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” said Ford, angry at anybody who would dare make fun of such a kindhearted person. “I mean, your nose is cute, at least you don’t have these weird extra fingers like I do.”

“Wait,” said Fiddleford, blushing. “Did you just say I was cute?”

It was now Ford’s turn to blush.

“I– um, that is to say– I mean– HEY LOOK THE ICE CREAM SHOP IS OPEN,” Ford sputtered. Distracted by the promise of sugary treats, the boys linked arms and ran inside.

“One chocolate for me,” said Ford to the cashier, “and one butter pecan for him!”  
He clapped Fidds on the shoulder, as if proudly showing off his friend to the entire shop.

“Coming up,” said the cashier with a wink as Ford handed her the money. “Why don’t you boys take a seat?”

Of course, just as the two had gotten comfortable in a booth, disaster struck when Crampelter had walked in with none other than Cindy Crenshaw.

“Oh no,” muttered Ford.

“Lemme guess– one of the bullies at your school,” whispered Fidds as he eyed up the massive Crampelter who demanded the cashier make him a vanilla malt milkshake.

“Two, actually,” sighed Ford miserably. Cindy Crenshaw wore an unpleasant little smirk as she stared at Ford from across the room. Ford explained that he had convinced himself that he was madly in love with Cindy back in February last year, but that had ended in catastrophe when he’d foolishly written her a valentine confessing his undying love. Not only had Cindy not been interested, but she had recited the poem Ford had clumsily written in front of the entire school over and over at lunchtime every day since:

_I think you’re real neat,_

_Your smile is so sweet,_

_Your eyes are greener than bullfrogs!_

_Everyone else is dumb just like bulldogs;_

_I love you more than Tesla loved birds,_

_But how can I tell you? There aren’t enough words!_

Cindy had absentmindedly began lilting the first few lines of the hated poem as Crampelter paid for their ice cream.

“Ugh… Fidds, remind me to never write poems for mean girls ever again ever,” said Ford, who buried his head in his arms in shame.

“… Hey Ford, maybe once the ice cream’s ready, we take ours to go,” said Fidds, patting Ford’s arm sympathetically. “I don’t wanna eat ice cream in a place where they serve jerks.”

“I’m fine with that,” Ford nodded.

“One Chocolate and one Butter Pecan ready for pick up,” called the cashier from the counter, holding two paper bowls of fresh ice cream in each hand.

“I’ll get em buddy,” Fiddleford smiled at Ford before bouncing off to grab their order. Ford, however, didn’t like the nasty look Cindy was giving Fiddleford as he approached the counter, and to his horror, she stuck out her foot and tripped Fidds. The boy went flying head first into the counter, which, Ford saw as Fidds tried to pull himself off the floor, left a goose egg sized bruise on his forehead.

“Oh no, my _armoire_ ,” cried Cindy to Crampelter, barely concealing her laughter. “He scuffed my shoes on purpose! Teach him a lesson!”

“Nobody messes with Cindy, you long nosed sissy,” Crampelter snarled as he grabbed Fidds by the shirt and began to shake him violently.

Ford didn’t quite remember what happened next, just that in a lightning flash, Ford had jumped up from the booth, his knuckles were sore, and Crampelter was on the floor with a bloody nose.

“That’s enough of that,” cried the cashier, who turned to Cindy and cried, “get your boyfriend outta my store Missy!”

“What? That’s not fair,” Cindy cried, pointing to Ford viciously. “He attacked us!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t think I didn’t see that little stunt you pulled on Pines’ buddy– haul your little behind outta here before I call your parents,” countered the cashier, who waved her arm theatrically at the door.

Sulking, Cindy helped Crampelter to his feet. She glared murderously at Ford, who cooly stated, “By the way Cindy? You meant ' _amour_.' ' _Armoire_ ' is a type of wardrobe. You sound like an idiot.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” said the cashier as Cindy and Crampelter left the store in a huff. “Go take your little friend to the back kid, get some ice for that bump.”

  
The two sat in the back, tears steady falling down Fidds face as he pressed an ice pack to his swollen forehead.

“No, don’t cry,“ whispered Ford, who began to pat Fidds gently on the back, “I hate it when you cry.”

“S-sorry,” sniffled Fidds, who weakly attempted to smile for Ford again. “It’s just, you know, I’m leaving in a few days, and nobody back home ever stands up for me the way you did to that jerk and his crabby girlfriend. I’m gonna miss you a whole lot Stanford!”

“We don’t have to miss each other yet.” Ford’s voice began to crack, he felt like crying a little bit himself. “Once you’re calmed down, how about we design a robot that can punch out bullies for you when I’m not around.”

“Y'mean it?”

“Definitely.”

Fidds scooped Ford into a tight hug, and, though Ford would later see Fidds many more times in his life, in that moment, he hugged him as if they’d never see each other again if they broke apart.


End file.
